


An Empty Chair at a Crowded Table

by murderofpies



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Crying, Enjolras is Dead, Funeral, M/M, Misgendering, Or Is It?, Sad, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character, Unrequited Love, guess we'll never know, its by enjolras' terrible family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderofpies/pseuds/murderofpies
Summary: Enjolras dies in a riot at a protest and Grantaire never gets a chance to confess





	An Empty Chair at a Crowded Table

The room was crowded with people, a mixture of relatives and the people he had truly cared about. Grantaire spotted some of the others: Bahorel standing quietly with Feuilly in the corner, not fighting for once; Combeferre comforting a sobbing Courfeyrac. He also saw some people he who he believes to be the parents of the recently deceased. 

Grantaire shakes his head; Enjolras would’ve hated this. A man made of fire and conviction who lived his life as such should be honored in no other way than by how he lived. A man made of love for all of the oppressed should not be cried over by the people who made them so. A man with such a brilliant faith should not be mourned by a cynic, but this is the way that things are.

When he walks fully into the room, rather than lingering in the doorway, he is greeted by Joly and Bossuet, who has even managed to spill something on his shirt in the five minutes the two have been there. Ah, Grantaire thinks, at least some things never change.

“Hey,” the hug Joly gives him is warm and comforting,” how are you doing?”

“What do you think?” Grantaire’s voice is scratchy, like he hasn’t used it in a while. 

The three stand in silence, their presences more comforting than words could be at the time. In the small huddle next to them, Grantaire can hear a story being told.

“You know, when Enjolras was little, the small thing used to love coming over to my house.

(he hated it)

“Every time, I would make her some cookies and she would play the piano for me for hours.

(he hated playing the piano and those cookies)

“She would do it even up until she went to college.

(he only went because his parents made him)

“She stopped after that, no doubt influenced by those horrible friends. It was really a shame. Such a sweet child but look at how she died. Just truly horrible.” The woman threw an angry glance over at the three friends, as if they didn’t do everything in their power on that awful day.

Grantaire hated it. How could they slander his memory and pretend they loved him when not a single one accepted him when he came out? 

He tugged on his sleeves and cleared his throat. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

Joly gave him an encouraging smile and Bossuet patted his arm. 

 

The family had given the body a wide berth; it seemed as though everyone wanted to get as far away from it as possible. Enjolras had put it very specifically in his will, that when he should die, that he should be buried in a suit, no matter what his parents said. This was protested, but in the end, the will was honored. For this at least, Grantaire was thankful.

Because the family did not want to look at him, Grantaire had some privacy with his fallen Apollo.

“You know,” he whispered, his voice cracking,” I was finally going to tell you. As soon as you got off that stage, I was going to tell you. Tell you that I was in love with you since the moment I’d met you; tell you that it was you that I was so often drawing in the meetings when it seemed like I wasn’t paying attention; tell you that you were the only thing I believed in.

“If you rejected me then it would be over, I would stop coming to meetings, and just meet everyone at the bar afterwards. It would have been healthier than just pining over you from across the room. And if you’d actually said yes….

Grantaire paused to brush away some of the more rapidly falling tears. “I hadn’t let myself get my hopes up that far,” he laughed humorlessly. “if you’d said yes,” he whispered, “then I would’ve taken you to this little environmentally conscious café, like the ones I know you love, and we would have gone on a walk afterwards. I’d give you a kiss once I dropped you off at your apartment and-“

He stopped again to wipe away the tears that streaked down his face. “But none of that matters now. All that matters is that I wasn’t able to get to the stage in time, wasn’t able to predict the violence of the riot. I should’ve taken that bullet instead of you, the cynic in place of the believer. The human in place of the god.”

Grantaire pauses, his entire face now wet with tears. “I refuse to believe that you abandoned your cause, the thing you loved more than anything in the world. Maybe someday  
you’ll come back, leading a different fight, and maybe you’ll win.

“I hope you win someday Enjolras, you deserve it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! This is my first fic and any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Likes and comments would be as well.
> 
> my tumblr; murderofpies


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